Gemotions

The emergency lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the metal walls. David, usually the picture of stoic efficiency, was quietly staring at his shoes. His shoulders, usually ramrod straight, were now slumped. I knew his wife was ill, and the weight of that knowledge pressed heavily upon me, too.

"Here," I said, offering him the water bottle I always carried. He accepted it without a word, his gaze fixed on the plastic.

The silence grew thick, punctuated only by the occasional groan of the stalled elevator. I felt a knot tighten in my chest, a mirroring of his internal tension. I began thinking of his children and how they must be waiting for him.